The old man climbed the hill
Grandma behind him
With her angled staff warding
Pressing, prodding
At top of hill the old men sat
On a bench beneath a young oak tree
And there he sat while the days passed by him
And there she stood, with her angled staff warding
As above them the stars ever circled around
Patterns changing
Millennia passing
Above the old oak tree
With the old man sitting
And Grandma’s angled staff warding.

Ever hallowed be her name